CIRCLE II: Between The Cracks
by ArtisticAbandon
Summary: Some injuries aren't on the surface. Some scars can't be seen. And some people can't be rescued. (Continuation of The Broken Circle, and the second installment in the Circle series.)
1. Bait

_**Blanket Disclaimer:**_ I'm not repeating this, so pay attention. They are not mine. Any relevance or closeness to anyone else's _story_ is obviously a complete coincidence. At the time of writing, the _characters_ were legally available for Free and Fair Use. And one day, I will have nice, shiny characters of my own to abu—uh, play with. Today is obviously not that day. *grin*

 _ **Notes:**_ Blast from the past. I know. RL has not been kind in the last three years, but there comes a point where you just stare it down and say, 'heck with it,' and write anyway. This is what you get as a result. I can't guarantee when you'll get chapters, but at least I'm starting, right? (I know what you're going to say: that after these years this'd better be a damn good story, yeah? Hang on and find out with me, lol.)

 _ **tags / TW:**_ torture (mostly implied). blood. injuries. canon level violence. permanent injuries. coma. recovery. hospitals. icky stuff in general, but not a lot different to canon. because the author rewrites canon. like alot.

* * *

 _ **Chap. Summary:**_ What came before. Because to hook any big fish, first you need the right bait...

 _ **Notes:**_ Short chapter to start with – kind of a revamp of the epilogue of Circle 1, and also because the cut is awkward for the next one. I've been poking at this cut for like, _a year_ , and I don't think I'm ever going to be fully happy, but really, there comes a time when you've just got to say _no_ to yourself and post the stupid thing. And also thanks to my betas (who'll probably chose to be anonymous for this, because I would too) for reining me (and my commas) in, and also my tendency to write both ridiculously long and ridiculously short sentences –- which this is a case in point. So. Yeah. I'm going to stop this thing here.

#

#

* * *

 **CIRCLE II**

 **BETWEEN THE CRACKS  
** _ **1\. Bait**_

* * *

It says something about Gotham's city planners that even her most ancient streets don't flood when the hurricanes and nor'easters and extreme weather comes knocking. Not that _this_ is that kind of thing. _Its not_.

Its just...unseasonably wet. Yeah. That's one way to describe it.

Truthfully, its been raining for days. Weeks. It's the kind of wet where people give up on the idea of staying inside (and dry) and venture out anyway. A few brave souls even go without the umbrella; they're also fool-hardy, because the next few days are inevitably spent finding wet things in odd places. Or shivering. One thing this rain is _not_ is warm.

It is also, at least, not snow.

Snow is always worse than rain. Rain, at least, can be dealt with, with boots and umbrellas and raincoats.

Snow brings everything to a halt. Snow keeps people cooped up in houses. Snow makes people look out of their windows. Even worse, people spend time _outside_ in the snow. More to the point, snow makes people _bored_.

People _see things_ when its snowing.

They're watching for relatives, they're on the internet watching videos, at the windows waiting for it to stop so they can play, waiting for customers, watching snowfall, watching, watching, watching. They're just. Plain. _Watch_. (Which is precisely why they made sure this rain is not going anywhere near snow.)

But _no one_ sees things in the rain. And if they do see things, they don't know (or don't believe) what they've seen. Even better, the _sound_ of the rain obscures everything else.

It is, truly, the perfect weather for an ambush.

Its only the icing on the perfect cake that _this_ is the weather in which their prey has chosen to emerge.

Just like they'd hoped.

* * *

The actual moment of ambush is over and done with quickly.

Barely more than a minute from surrounding their prey to the actual capture.

Just like they'd practiced.

* * *

Afterwards, its a simple matter to sweep the alley for debris and unwanted traces, though of course the rain helps with that. Blood washes away quickly in the rain, after all. It doesn't take long (even less time than the actual ambush, actually) for there to be no trace that anything untoward ever happened.

Exactly as they planned.

Barely a minute, and there's no evidence they can find that Dick Grayson ever entered this alley. And then the shadows withdraw...

Leaving the rain as the only apparent witness to what has happened.

* * *

TBC


	2. Hook

_**Chp. Summary:**_ To be successful, the bait also needs to be on the right hook...

 _ **Notes:**_ Awkward cuts are my _bane_. I hates them. _Hates_ them. Also, this story has a fair amount of DC / Titans / super-type-people crossover in it, along with shifting POVs, because Reasons. Which will be explained. Eventually. (Chief of which being I did mention this is not the universe you're used to?) And from here on, we pick up the threads about 12 hours after the end of Circle1.

#

#

* * *

 **CIRCLE II**

 **BETWEEN THE CRACKS**  
 _ **2** **. Hook**_

* * *

A growl of frustration echoed through Titan's Tower, followed by a heavy clunk as the phone landed in its cradle none-too-gently.

"That's not going to help," Donna Troy commented, keeping her voice even with effort. It had been a long day (in the most awful headache-inducing way) and sudden noises weren't helping her temper (or her head).

"Don't you think I _know_ that?" Roy retorted, keeping his own snarl of temper unspoken. He had, after all, been the one manning the phone today; which meant he'd been the one dialing. Endlessly.

Donna just gave the archer 'the look'. "Don't snarl at me, handsome. You should know it doesn't work by now. And you should _also_ know it ain't gonna make him pick up any faster if he isn't at his phone." She sighed. "Even though not answering's not like him."

"Yeah, and I know that too," Roy shot back. He knew as well as everyone else in this room that Dick Grayson always picked up his phone when it rang. _Always_. Even when he couldn't talk right at that moment, he always picked up. It was a lesson that had been drummed into him (the hard way) years ago, and he had never forgotten. _Never_.

Dick also didn't leave his phone off for any length of time. (So, if for some reason, he couldn't pick up, at least they'd be able to easily track where he was without overtly breaking into his phone.)

So _why_ was the stupid thing playing that inane 'out of service or range' message? It made Roy's fingers twitch with the desire to throw something at a wall.

Donna smiled knowingly and reached over to grab hold of those fingers. "That's also not going to help, you know."

He sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot today. _Why on earth did I tell him to go back?_ "I know. And thanks."

"Is it still the same 'out of service' message?" Wally asked, brow furrowing in thought.

"Yep." Roy leaned back in his chair, feeling some of his frustration drain away at the sight of Wally deep in thought. One of the benefits of a speedster on your team: great ideas were literally a second away. Or less.

Wally blinked at him. "You're going to have to call them." He didn't need to elaborate who _they_ were. Everyone knew: Gotham. And, more specifically: Bruce's people.

Roy snorted. Again. He'd been doing a lot of _that_ today as well. "Right. Like _they're_ gonna help."

"You never know," came the mild voice from the doorway. Garth: their voice of reason. Thank goodness he was still around. "They might."

Donna just rolled her eyes and vocalized what they all thought. "And pigs might fly."

"You never know—" Roy grinned. "They might, even without the 'Wing here to lend a hand." He turned back to the phone, a new plan in mind.

* * *

The mood around Bruce Wayne's bedside in Gotham Mercy General Hospital was, for want of a word, jubilant. _He's waking up!_ was the general theme of the party, for such was indeed the case. Okay, so there wasn't much in the way of champagne and streamers, being that this was still a hospital and the intensive care ward as well, but it was a party nevertheless.

The patient had taken his first step (the first in _weeks_ ) towards recovery. There was reason for jubilation. Having been one of the ones beside said patient and his bed for all those weeks, Barbara Gordon felt she had a shot at the title of Happiest Person In The Room, right now. (To be honest, it was the happiest she'd been in years – and as that said something really sad about the last few years, or equally sad about _her,_ it wasn't something she was going to examine too closely.)

This... this was a feeling she was determined to enjoy.

And she would have. If not for the buzzing of her phone. Despite her misgivings (her phone had been silent for _days_ , so why would someone be ringing her now?) she brought it out just far enough to glance at the screen.

Private Number.

Huh.

Her finger hovered a moment over the the red 'hang up' icon for a few seconds, wavering, as she decided whether she wanted to hear this. This was either going to be a telemarketer or a contact with bad news, and she really didn't want her rare good mood ruined.

But if she didn't answer it now, she'd only spend the rest of the night _worrying_ about who it had been been... until she had access to her rigs and could pull the number out of the systems. So, it would probably be better for all involved (and for her mental health) if she answered it now.

In fact, the only thing that bothered her was that they were calling her on her _personal_ cell. The cell with a number that she _never_ gave out – not even to fellow superheroes. In fact, she could count on the one hand the number of times her personal cell had rung in the _last year_. And each time it had been important. Life-changing kind of important.

So yeah, she probably should answer it.

Thus it was with a fair degree of caution that her finger came down on the green 'answer' icon as she lifted the phone to her ear. "Yes?"

"Hello, O. Long time, no see."

She let out the breath she'd been holding as caution gave way to more relief than she cared to admit to, even to herself. Before it turned quickly to dismay, even disgust. "Roy."

"Yeah, I know. I'm calling on your personal line. And don't hang up, because I'll just ring you again. And again. And again. Until the nurses confiscate that nice, new phone of yours, and then where will you be?"

Barbara winced to herself. Okay, so she had deserved that. Obvious statement, obvious answer. And even more obvious threat. "Fine," she retorted, in an equally obvious prompt. After all, the quicker she found out what he wanted, the quicker she could hang up and get back to where she belonged.

"Okay, okay. I'll cut to the chase."

"Please."

"Oooh, terse, one-word answers. You must be having a _lovely_ day. So I'll keep it nice and simple for you. Aren't you missing someone?"

 _Missing..._ Unbidden, her thoughts went back to those horrible moments when Bruce had been missing, when the call had come in that he was injured, the long wait while they operated, and the even longer wait of the coma... Her gaze shot back to the bed, and she quickly counted heads. It was only when she came up with the figure she expected that her heart slowed down and she could talk again. "No."

"Are you _sure_?"

She bristled at that. Of _course_ she was sure. She knew how to count. Hell, she'd been counting people and pieces of information when everyone else – except maybe Bruce – had all been in _diapers_. "Yes."

"I think maybe you should count them again."

If anything, her hackles rose even higher, and her voice got even shorter. "No."

"All right then," he agreed cheerfully enough. "But I have it on good authority that you're one short."

That stopped her in her tracks, and she counted heads again. There were still as many there as she expected, but... one short? Her heart started racing. _Who have I_ _missed_ _?_ "Who?" It was open-ended question, and she meant it that way. Both who was missing, and on whose authority. She'd settle for either answer at this point.

"Do you know where DG is?"

For that, she didn't even have to think. "Yes," she replied, the answer rolling off her tongue with ease. Something about... getting a car, or having a night off. It hadn't really registered, to be honest. She'd had something a little more pressing on her mind. _Bruce is awake!_

Roy snorted amusedly. "Okay, fine. I deserved that. Open question with a possible answer in either direction. So here's a question you'll _have_ to give me something on. Can you _prove_ it?"

Of course, by this point, she already had out her second phone, the Oracle one, and had up the right display. "GPS," she answered smugly, even as she watched the marker blinking at her reassuringly. It hadn't taken her long to plant the tracker, once Grayson'd reappeared in her life. After all those years apart, it was nice to know where that infuriating man was, for a change.

"Ah, one-word acronym. _Nice_. You _are_ on a roll. Okay, then. I'll give you a hint, and I'll even throw it in for free. How sure are you that that tracker's correct? Oh, and you might want to ditch those phones of yours."

"One word answer: _No_. I win." With that, she hung up on him. But not without a spreading hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. How did he know she had two phones? How did he know she had a tracker? And why did he tell her to ditch _them_? As in plural?

Alfred approached her as she put her phones away, silent as always. "I do hope that was a contact you shan't need to talk to again, Barbara. That was... rather abrupt, I fear, even for you."

"Maybe," she acknowledged absently, her mind already elsewhere, racing down the logic path of the conversation. Was she... was she _compromised_?

One eyebrow shot up in silent reprimand. "I'm sure you'll figure out whatever is wrong," he told her coolly, and went back to the bed.

Barbara just nodded absently and stared at the wall, thinking over what she'd been told. She knew, more than anyone else here, that for the _Titans_ to make contact with her, something, somewhere, was wrong...

Her gaze went once more to the bed, and then to the people surrounding it. If she was to believe them – and why shouldn't she, if only to give herself a starting point? – then the security surrounding this room had breached at least once. If not more. Perhaps even her own personal security...

Her lips thinned. Security was something she took _very_ personally, and this "breach" was damned well going to be taken care of.

One way or another.

* * *

At the other end of the phone-line, in a little-known room at the Titans Tower, Roy grinned at his fellow Titans as he gently hung up. "And _that_ , ladies and gentle sirs, is how you hook an Oracle."

Wally let out a long breath – and reflected to himself that this was probably the longest time he'd ever managed to keep quiet. Which, in this case, was a good thing, especially since they'd been on speaker phone. Still, he thought that having this conversation – discussion, call, whatever – in _this_ particular room was spooky. And said so.

"I know, Wal," said Roy, with a small shrug, "but what choice do we have? It's not like we could've moved it."

The console across the room sparked to life. Because for this, they'd brought in the heavy artillery. Their secret weapon. **Sorry.** The word appeared on the screen. A moment later, another line of text appeared beneath. **I'd love to help, but that's why I'm here.**

Roy blew out a hard breath. Every time he came in here, he was reminded all the more of the cost of the last few years. (Which was why he came as often as he could.) "I know, Vic. I know."

Knowing what was coming, Donna carefully moved onto a relatively less-emotional topic. "Did you get anything?"

Vic Stone, Titan Member for life and resident 'voice in the monitor' – or "Oz" to the newbies – flickered the monitors around the room in what they'd learned to identify as the 'smug' pattern. **I got the GPS locater she pulled up on her other phone.**

"So how close are we talking?" asked Wally, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Yards or feet?"

 **For you? I can get it down to** _ **inches**_ **.**

Roy put his cell down beside one of the terminals. They'd found out about this neat little trick a while ago. If an electronic device was in the room, Vic could activate it and download information to it – or from it. Even so, it never hurt to be polite. Because it was still _Vic_ behind the monitors. "Can you put it on my cell?"

For her part, Donna had never really classified plain words on a screen as _smug_... but this answer definitely was. **Already there.**

Roy nodded with satisfaction. "Then what are we waiting for, people? Let's go, let's go!"

The lights flashed urgently, calling Roy back as he was at the door. "Yeah?"

There was a small pause before the message swum up to the top of the monitor. **Find him for me, okay?**

The archer's face softened into a smile. "We will, Vic."

And then they were gone.

* * *

TBC

Note that the next chapter will definitely be early next month as I'm moving house during this month. :)


	3. Line

**Chp. Summary:** When reeling in a catch, sometimes it's important to let out the line a little...

 **Notes:** I tried to get this done earlier in the month but it just didn't happen. So I'm posting now because I have a free night, its still July where I am, and the weekend is shaping up to _horrendous_. I don't like the look of my diary and I'm the one that agreed to do it. :(

#

#

* * *

 **CIRCLE II**

 **BETWEEN THE CRACKS**  
 _ **3\. Line**_

* * *

A nurse poked her head around the door. "Ms Gordon?"

"Yes?"

"You have some people here to see you."

 _People?_ That implied a plural and she was sure that she knew that many people on that personal a basis. The ones she _did_ know were already here in the room, not... elsewhere, potentially waiting for her presence. "Did they... say who they were?"

The nurse's forehead wrinkled a little at the question. Or maybe in memory. "No. But they said to tell you it was about the phone thing."

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Barbara nodded, forcing her expression to remain calm. She could do this – she was sure of it. "Where are they?" In other words, how public would the coming confrontation be?

The nurse smiled, probably used to these sorts of conversations. "I directed them towards the patients' lounge to wait for you there."

"And they're the only ones there?"

"When I left them, yes."

 _This is going to be_ wonderful _, I can see it already._ (Because sometimes it was the private confrontations that hurt the most.) She nodded politely. "Thanks. I'll meet them there right now."

She thought nothing of heading there immediately. She'd already made her excuses to Bruce (whether he'd heard them was something the doctors were debating, and they could do _that_ just fine without her), and the sooner this matter was handled, the sooner she could be back where she belonged.

She paused for a moment outside the door to the lounge, not only to compose herself, but also to confirm her suspicions about who was within. It was just as she'd thought. _The Titans_. Not just any Titans, but _the original ones_. Arsenal (Roy Harper), Troia (Donna Troy), Flash (Wally West), and Tempest (Garth). They'd left New York and had come all the way here... for what? A confrontation over her phone conduct? Or something _more_?

(For that matter, how did they did know she was here? That _Oracle_ was _here_?)

She pushed her way into the room (stupid non-disabled-friendly door), her glare strong and her expression glacial. Just the way she liked it. (Armored personality to overcome the weakness of her body.) She immediately fired the first salvo in what she was sure would be a battle over data, cutting right to the chase. "How did you find me?"

"C'mon, Barbara, its not that hard a deduction. How did the headlines go again?"

Wally grinned. "`Play Boy Philanthropist in Coma', I think. They were even kind enough to give us the hospital's address."

Oracle narrowed her eyes, both at the security breach – stupid journalist, stupid press release, just stupid, stupid, _stupid_ – and at the cavalier attitude. "But how did you find _me_?"

Roy snorted and rolled his eyes. "Give us _some_ credit. We go back far enough that it wasn't hard to figure out who was hiding behind the curtain." It also helped that they'd had Dick to explain a few things, but this wasn't the time for that discussion.

 _Of course._ The one chink in her armor was always the one thing she could never fully eliminate – personal connections. Barbara forced herself to settle and breathe deeply. There was really no need to treat them as enemies; at least not until they'd proved themselves to be so. "Okay. I'll give you that. So why the elaborate ruse to meet me?"

Donna smiled gently. "To be fair, hon, you're not that easy to reach. It's not like we could look you up in a superhero directory or something."

She nodded. "Fair point." There were _reasons_ she'd gone to great lengths to hide Oracle's identity.

"Actually," Garth spoke up, right on schedule, "speaking of looking up things, you might want to look at this." He handed her a phone with the (copied) tracking data they'd obtained.

She stared at the data on the screen in shock. "But that's—" That was the data she'd pulled up on _her_ phone. Her _Oracle_ phone. Identical data. It took long moments for her voice to work. "How did you—"

"How did we get that?" Roy asked for her, grinning lightly. He always liked this part. "Trade secret."

Oracle crossed her arms and glared, feeling off-balance and not liking it. At all. "I'm not going anywhere or doing anything until you tell me how you got that."

Roy and Donna exchanged looks and shrugs. It was the kind of quick wordless conversations people can have who know each other well, when they've fought side by side on numerous battlefields, and learned the hard way how to read someone at a glance. Donna finally sighed and stepped forward. "Before we tell you this, you have to understand that you'll be the _sixth person alive_ to know this. In the entire world. We've guarded this secret with our lives, and some of us, well, they've had to take it beyond. What you do with it... will be up to you."

Oracle nodded slowly. "I... understand."

"We have our own 'voice behind the curtain'. We just call him Oz, not Oracle."

"Oz?" Barbara echoed, feeling more a little bewildered. Why hadn't she heard of this vigilante before? But then, if she was really only the sixth person to know (get the facts here Barbara, sixth person _alive_ ) (Because apparently some who knew had taken – in maybe all the really hard ways – this knowledge _to their grave._ ) of this person's existence, was that really so strange?

"Yep. Oz," Roy nodded. "We figured it was appropriate," Roy smiled a little like it was a joke. (And, hell, the way this day was going, maybe it was.) "How do you think we manage to find out what we do without coming to you all the time?"

That was... a perfectly valid point, actually. The Titans _hadn't_ been coming to her. Not for years. But that hadn't dulled their performance in the field. Far from it. If anything they were better than ever. (Perhaps even better than her and the JLA combined, a small part of her whispered, but she wasn't listening to that.) So whoever this Oz was, she had to at least admit to their existence, and _some_ measure of information-gathering skill.

One thing was also clear: Oz was better than her in the crucial area of secrecy. It was to her great chagrin that Oracle was known to more than just the superhero world. It was the one problem with setting yourself up as an information hub: you then became _known_ as an information hub, and not just by the people you wanted to know about it. (In some ways she envied Oz. She had moments when she wouldn't mind a quieter life.)

Barbara nodded finally. "Okay. Let's say, for the moment,that I believe you." Because she always reserved judgment until she had proof in her hands, and sometimes not even then. Because she was Oracle and was a master of faking it. (And also because she also understood the importance of confidences, and what it took to break them.) She squared her shoulders and looked around, meeting their gazes with her head high. "What now?"

Arsenal grinned at her a smile that was all teeth. "I think... we need to go hunting."

* * *

 _ **Elsewhere**_

"Has he talked yet?"

"No."

"Then don't stop until he does."

* * *

TBC

(Bear with me with the Titan thing... We're almost where we need to be.) :)


	4. Sunk

_**Summary:**_ And as the trap springs shut, the prey experiences a sinking feeling, knowing they are caught.

 _ **Notes:**_ Sorry this is late. September/October aren't very good months on the calendar for me. Also, I added a little something to the end of the last chapter, if you haven't already read it.

#

#

* * *

 **CIRCLE II**

 **BETWEEN THE CRACKS**  
 **4** _ **. Sunk**_

* * *

The rain didn't surprise them.

According to the weathermen, Gotham and its surrounding districts were sitting in the middle of one of its famous lows. Had been for some weeks, and if the rumors were true, the weather forecasters were quietly taking bets on how many more _weeks_ it would last.

It was a testament to how well the city was planned that nothing had flooded. Yet.

Still, it made working under these conditions a hassle. Everything was slippery. It also meant that the usual foot-traffic was reduced, which was a mixed blessing. Less casualties if something went wrong – which it often did – but also less people to blend in amongst. Not that Kevlar and Spandex really blended, but it was surprising what ignorance and the city mentality meant you could get away with.

Like now. A group of costumed heroes and a lady in a wheelchair, standing out in the open near an alley, and no one looked their way.

One of the costumed heroes, Arsenal, impatiently pushed his red hair out of his eyes. Again. He really needed to find a hairdresser that understood the importance of having bangs that didn't fall in his eyes when it was wet.

Troia – Donna Troy – slyly glanced his way and tossed her hair, which, he noticed wryly, had no problems staying out of her eyes. Amazons.

Garth, son of Aquaman, scion of Atlantis, breathed in deeply, letting the rain and humidity fill his lungs with a quiet joy. He'd never trade the surface life for the water – he'd _earned_ his right to live above the water dammit – but times like this reminded him of what he'd traded for it. "So. Not to uh, rain on your parade, but why did you lead us here?"

Barbara, at least, blushed. "I, uh, put a tracker on him."

The Titans stared. "Why?" Roy finally asked.

"Because... well, he'd been away for so long, we were arguing so much, and I just wanted something I knew— It wasn't the best idea, okay?" Definitely one of the times when it sounded so much more... sensible in her head when she actually did it than trying to explain it in the cold light of day.

"Maybe not at the time, but at least now we have a place to start," Wally said quietly, ever the peacemaker. "What are we looking for?"

"I didn't have much time, so... I slipped it onto his jacket."

The Titans promptly scattered around the alley and started looking in earnest. Emptying bins, looking into dumpsters, ripping into garbage bags, even climbing (or flying) up fire escapes to look on the nearby roofs.

"So." Roy said conversationally as he searched. "Just how tired was he to let you put that tracker on him?"

 _Confession time._ Barbara braced herself. "I, uh, actually got Catwoman to put on him. When he was out cold from exhaustion or something."

"I fig—"

"Hey, guys." That was Wally. And he sounded... not happy. Kinda broken, actually.

"Yeah?" He turned to face him... and stopped. Because the speedster was holding up Dick's leather jacket. The bloody and slashed leather jacket. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

For his part, Roy found he could only stand and watch as everyone else went over to where Wally stood with the jacket at the far end of the alley. He didn't claim to be a detective, far from it, but... it just... didn't make _sense_ to him. How on earth did that jacket get all the way back _there_? For that matter, what on earth had Dick been doing in an alley (on the ground)? In _this_ particular alley, that led nowhere and was not particularly close to anything? It made no _sense_. The questions tickled his brain enough that he pulled out his phone and started IM-ing Vic back in the Tower.

 _:Oz. Why would DG be *here*?:_

 **In the alley?**

 _:Yeah:_

 **Way ahead of you. As usual. There's a rental car in his name about five meters from alley entrance.**

Roy felt his insides go cold at that. _:Under the DG name?:_

 **Yep.**

 _:Damn.:_ It took a few seconds to pull himself back together. _:Okay. Under his name how long?:_

 **Three and a half days**. **Cameras say its been parked there at least three.**

If anything, the coldness spread. _:Are we talking ambush?:_

There was a moment's hesitation before the answer came. **Its what I would've done, if I was them. Three days would've been plenty of time.**

After all, what was three days, after all these years?

 _:Can you find him on the cameras?:_

There was another hesitation. **Yeah. And... no.**

 _:So which is it?:_

 **Someone parked it for him. Three days ago. He came back to it yesterday.**

Roy frowned. It wasn't like Vic to be this... obtuse. _:And?:_

 **Downloading footage to you now. You need to see this.**

 _Okay. That was... foreboding._ He glared at the progress bar, even though he knew perfectly well that glaring at phones didn't solve anything. It never did. Phone still in hand, Roy stepped closer to the car, and looked up at the city skyline, wondering vaguely if his internal GPS was as good as he still thought it was. He turned around in a tight circle, trying to place himself relative to known landmarks. _Everything looks so different down on the ground..._

"What is it?" Wally questioned, knowing the signs that mental gears were turning.

'I don't..." Then he had it. "How close are we to the hospital where Bruce is?"

"About a block thattaway," Barbara pointed readily enough. "Why?"

Yeah, he'd thought as much. It was circumstantial, but it was enough for Roy. Dick had come here to visit Bruce; that much he knew. But God alone knew why he'd parked so damn far away, because he knew how much Dick hated walking even on his good days. Even more telling, why he'd left the car parked there for so long _under his own name_. It was like waving a red flag to a bull. Or worse.

Much worse, really, but he was so horrified that his brain was kinda failing at pulling up parallels.

In the end he shook his head; he would sort out the why's and wherefore's later. For now, he more important things to focus on, like actually _finding_ Dick.

His phone beeped. The download was complete. Time to tell people what he'd figured out.

"Oz says that the car is his," he said, even as he focused on finding the file on his phone and playing it. "I got him to send me the footage of—" _Oh. S**t. That's so not good._

"What is it?"

He turned the phone around, his mouth dry. He didn't bother watching it again – some things you only needed to see once. "See for yourselves."

They crowded around the phone, trying to see what was playing. Even with the varying angles, it was clear what had happened: Dick had never quite made it to his car.

 _This'd be so much better on a tablet. Or a computer screen._ Barbara squinted at the phone. _Huh. Is that...? But why...?_ "Wait! Pause it!"

Roy obligingly paused the images.

"Can I have the phone? I want to go back and rewatch it slowly. I thought I saw something I can use to identify them."

"Yeah, sure," Roy said, and handed the phone over. Time to see if the Oracle lived up to her reputation away from all her gadgets.

"Thanks," she said absently. It didn't take her long to figure out how the video player worked. She went back a few seconds then went forward frame by frame, watching intently. "Ah hah, got it!" Pleased with herself, she made a screengrab and zoomed in, then turned it around to show the others. "Does anyone else recognize this tattoo?"

All Roy needed was one glance to swear softly. "I _knew_ it! I should never have told him to come back to this damn place."

Donna closed her eyes in pain. _We were too late._ "Yeah."

Wally took one look and walked off to hit the wall. Repeatedly. At speed. Garth quietly followed to talk to him down. Or talk him into not speeding off and handling this himself. Whichever worked.

Barbara stared. "I don't understand. What's wrong?"

"That's the latest tattoo for the League of Assassins," Roy explained, which really wasn't an explanation.

Barbara stared at the image. "Yeah. I know _that_." She'd known that the moment she'd seen it, actually. She didn't call herself Oracle for nothing. Which is why she avoided eye-contact to ask her question. "But what's so important about _Dick_ that he'd have a contract out on him?" It came down to that question Roy had thrown at her earlier, didn't it: what had she _missed_?

"It was an ambush."

"Well, _yeah_." That, too, was obvious. "But _why?_ "

The Titans stared at her, then looked at each other. Garth was the first to break the impasse. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked quietly.

She gritted her teeth. "No, I guess I don't." And wasn't _that_ hard to admit?

"Then I guess its time for a history lesson."

Garth looked around at the alley, at the rain, the car, and the suddenly obvious lack of people. "But not here. We need to be somewhere a little more... private." And out of the open.

Donna nodded slowly. "Yeah. I might... know a place. Its not far." At least... not if they traveled by transporter...

* * *

TBC


	5. Depths

_**Chapter:**_ With the trap sprung, it's time to find out how deep the rabbit hole goes...

 _ **Notes:**_ 1) 'Donna's place' was originally slated for another story, but ended up on the cutting room floor, so to speak. I put it back together for this. 2) Bit of back history on the 'Philly thing' here. Bear with me. 3) Also, this comes under the category(s) of Fair Use and Artistic License. :-) 4) Apologies to all Philly-ites for my besmirching of their fair city for my nefarious plot purposes. 5) Beta beta credit to estherdragonbat once again.

#

#

* * *

 **CIRCLE II**

 **BETWEEN THE CRACKS**  
 **5** _ **. Depths**_

* * *

The transporter dumped them in front of a nondescript building in what seemed to be yet-another-urban-jungle. The only thing that set this particular one apart from the surroundings was the small flickering neon sign on the front, saying "OPEN" in various garish colors. Well, that, and the bouncer out front.

Who was surprisingly unsurprised to see them.

Which just added to the mystery of the place in Oracle's mind. In her experience, there weren't many (any) civilians who were used to the sight of people materializing from thin air. The one's who were...were usually buried neck-deep in superhero business. More to the point, this time the people appearing were five muscled hero types and a lady in a (subtly armored) wheelchair. Not the average gathering by any means.

That was the main reason why Barb— _Oracle_ tried to memorize the transporter coordinates Donna used to get here. Okay, so she did memorize them, she just had a feeling they wouldn't do her any good, seeing as they didn't follow any pattern she was familiar with – and she knew the transporter specifications like she knew her own name _and_ could recite them all day. Photographic memory for the win.

The bouncer pulled down his shades to look them over, even going to the effort to lean his chair back to take them all in. "Welcome to Sam's," he rumbled in a gravelly voice (it sounded like a truck had driven over his vocal chords a couple of times) and pushed his shades back up.

Well. Apparently they passed. Good to know.

Donna nodded a greeting at him. "Is Sam in?"

"Nope." He paused a moment and shrugged. "Off doing his thing today. Back later, tho'."

"Our usual available then?"

"Yep."

"Thanks."

Donna nodded shortly then half-turned to the rest. "This way," she said, leading them inside.

The inside, Barbara noted, matched the outside. Nondescript to a 't'. Not that it was so bland in color that it made the eyes bleed, but more in a way that was hard to describe. To be honest, it looked just like any other bar and restaurant she'd ever been in.

The 'usual' was a table at the back, in a far corner – interestingly enough (or not so much, considering the company and where they were), with good sight-lines to all exits from every seat and fairly good coverage of the other occupants of the place. Not that there were many, but the few that were here were conspicuously ignoring them. So either the Titans were regulars, or this place was neck-deep in superhero business and they were used to strange people coming and going.

Even money either way, given the manner of their arrival and reception. Although, if she was being truly honest with herself, she'd say it was a sign of this _Oz_ at work. Especially since it was something she'd do herself – just for laughs, to show off her skills, for the sake of efficiency, or maybe for all three at once if she was in the mood. (And sometimes she'd do it even when she wasn't in the mood, just because _she could_. She sighed to herself, feeling the beckoning headache of double-and-triple thinking. But that was par for the course in the world of high-stakes hacking.)

Within moments of sitting down at the table, a waiter appeared from somewhere and asked for their orders. The Titans ordered drinks only, so Barbara did the same. Obviously they weren't planning on being here long.

They all waited until the waiter had gone and everyone was settled before they got down to business.

"So," Oracle started, quietly admiring her own self control in waiting this long. Usually her patience (trained by a world where she waited as long as it took to use her keyboard) was nowhere _near_ this good. "What now?"

"As the saying goes, the best place to start is usually at the beginning," Roy said.

"Except... where do you put the beginning?" Donna retorted, frowning at him. "In Gotham, afterwards, or during that... thing?"

"Okay, fair point, I'll give you that."

"You could always just pick a point at random and start there."

"Wally!" Garth remonstrated. "So not helping."

"What? It's just as valid a rule as starting at some arbitrary 'beginning' point."

"Wait a minute." Barbara interrupted. She could see where this was headed, if this group was anything like the JLA – and by all rumors, they were (or perhaps even _better_ , but that _so_ wasn't the point right now) – and it wasn't going to be anywhere fun. Well, not for her, but it might be for them. "What if I ask the questions, so that way you know what to tell me?" (It would also limit the discussion to the questions she asked, but if it gave this conversation a direction, at this point she was all for it.)

Was it her imagination, or did everyone relax at her suggestion? (Definitely her imagination. It was just the tension defusing.)

"Okay then," Roy said, gesturing expansively in a way she took to mean 'get on it with it'. The waiters took it as a sign to come and deliver their drinks, which promptly shut down the conversation again until they were gone. When it was clear, Roy gave her a level look. "What do you want to know?"

Right then. Now. Where to start.

She sipped at her coffee (long black in tallest mug available) as she thought. _Hmm._ Obviously she should start at what was the beginning for her: at the very question that had been plaguing her since she'd laid eyes on Grayson. "Why does he wear those sunglasses all the time?" _Huh. Okay._ Not what she'd intended to ask, but it'd do as a good opener.

Roy's eyebrows rose. "He wears sunnies, huh. I didn't know."

Donna shrugged, exchanging glances with her teammates. "I didn't either. Makes sense though, when you think about it."

"Yeah," Garth nodded thoughtfully, "especially if he didn't heal as well as we'd hoped."

"Heal from _what_?" Barbara prompted.

"Is that another question?" Roy grinned at her wolfishly.

"Does it count against me if it is?" she bared her teeth at him. "I thought they were free." For now, anyway.

"People, please," Donna remonstrated gently. "To answer your question Barbara, we're referring to...well, 'That Night' is what Dick always referred to it as. The night he left Gotham."

"Oh." She blinked as the new information shuffled into her world-view. "I never knew he'd been injured that night. Ba— uh, Bruce never told us."

Garth snorted. "Figures."

Donna sighed. "I'm getting the feeling he never told you a lot of things."

"Is that... what happened to his leg?"

Roy nodded. "Yep." He shrugged. "Never did heal right. He has days where that cane is more necessary than he'd care to admit."

Barb—Oracle narrowed her eyes. _How do they know these things?_ "So I take it you've kept in contact with Grayson this whole time?"

The Titans exchanged looks again, glances that spoke volumes in a language she didn't speak (but had a feeling she was learning). Obviously she'd stumbled her way onto an important question.

It was Roy who answered. "In a manner of speaking, yeah. You could say that we have."

"It always takes some doing," Donna elaborated, her voice quiet, "but we've managed."

"Yeah," the Flash piped up, "like the time we were facing off against thatweatherdude Ineverrememberhisnameisn'tthatweird and I was goingsofast Ipukedallovermyshoes andthenIhadto—" he suddenly cut himself off with a yelp. Obviously someone's foot had been busy.

"Wal." Roy said, face-palming slightly. " _Breathe_."

Wally breathed in a huge breath and let it out slowly, a huge exaggeration of normal speed. "Oh. Riiight. Talk slower. Sorry. I keep forgetting."

"To actually answer your question," Garth said, "it takes special cell phones and synchronized timing. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Barbara nodded slowly. It wasn't quite the answer to her question, but she had a feeling it was all that she was getting today. (Seriously. There were times that verbal conversations were so _antiquated._ Give her a computer any time.) She breathed deeply herself and gathered her thoughts. Now for the bigger one. "And you're sure that the Grayson we saw is the Grayson that left."

Garth snorted out his mouthful of liquid through his nose and made a disgusted face. "Gah. Sorry." He grabbed for napkins and wiped his face down. "I mean, you have basically _carte blanche_ to ask us whatever you want about Dick and you ask us _that_? It's a bit funny, that's all."

"If you knew how many times I've had to deal with clones in the last few years, you'd know why I asked," she retorted testily. Maybe the Titans dealt with things differently, but clones really weren't funny.

Roy rolled his eyes and simply answered, "Short of taking a DNA test, yes, we're sure."

Barbara tilted her head at him then. "If you're so sure, then _where was he_ all this time?"

Roy thinned his lips and thought a moment. "Let me ask you this in return, then, you tell me your answer, and _maybe_ I'll think about answering that one. What would be so important you'd leave behind all you knew to get away?"

"I— What? So important I'd...?" Barbara blinked, thrown off guard. "Is that what...?"

Donna laid a gentling hand on Roy's shoulder. From long experience, she knew how... upset... this topic made him – made everyone in this core Titans group. "Easy Roy. Now's not the time." She turned back to Barbara. "I understand, probably more than you can imagine, that you have hurt feelings due to... his manner of departure. But all we're asking is that you think for a moment. About what would make someone leave everything they knew behind."

Barbara did not call herself a genius for nothing. It didn't take her long to come up with answers. Well, only one answer that mattered. "A threat to everyone... that could only be answered by leaving. You mean blackmail?"

Donna nodded. "That's close enough to what we've been able to find out, too."

"You mean he's been blackmailed all this time and we never _knew_?" She clenched her fists out of view as her redheaded temper started to rise. _Why didn't he ask for help? Why didn't he_ tell _me?_

"You know, I think that was probably part of the terms." Roy answered, tilting his head thoughtfully. "At least, every time he got in contact with us, he was always careful never to let on where he was."

Barbara nodded slowly. This new information slotted into her head... and it added up to a picture she wasn't really comfortable with. It certainly cast her actions towards Dick over the last few days in an unflattering light, but it also made a certain amount of sense.

"I should also think," Garth spoke up, "that you can't tell anyone about that."

"But... it explains so much." And perhaps would help ease the sudden animosity Alfred had developed every time she mentioned Dick's name around him. (Bruce's relationship with Dick was another story, seeing as Bruce was currently doing a rather good impression of a coma patient and was therefore unavailable for comment.)

" _Think_ , Barbara," Roy urged, his voice low. "What happens when you break the terms of a blackmail?"

"Retaliation," Oracle breathed, the realization sudden and strong. "Is that why... the ambush?"

"Oh, that's another question entirely," Roy said, leaning back in his chair.

Donna eyed the emptiness of the restaurant around them. Now that they were the only customers here, she was uncomfortably aware of how well their voices would carry in an empty restaurant, even if this being held in the secluded corner booth. (Not that they were revealing state secrets, but these _were_ secrets that been held quiet for _years_ for some very good reasons.) (Now if only she could make Barb— _Oracle_ appreciate that, and she'd feel a lot more comfortable about this whole thing.) "Speaking of, one more question, and then we'll wrap this up."

Barbara nodded. There was only one more thing she really wanted to know anyway. "Okay then. I'll bite. What's the deal about this ambush thing?"

"Ah. Right. The ambush. Or more specifically, that damn contract." Roy sighed. "Who wants to do this?" He looked around the table.

Garth grinned at him and leaned back in his chair. "Hey, you started, man. You might as well finish." After all, there had to be _some_ perks to not being the obvious leader-type in this group.

"Thanks," Roy retorted, rolling his eyes. He turned to focus on Barbara. She was, after all, the only one at the table who didn't know. "So. We _think_ it started in Philadelphia."

"You have to understand," Donna interrupted gently, "we don't know the full story. Most of this, we've pierced together after the fact."

"Actually," Roy clarified, hunching over his beer, "we know _part_ of it for certain. I was there for some of it."

Donna nodded. "Right. But Dick was there for all of it. And he doesn't talk about it."

"Like not at all." Garth snorted. He slung an arm around the back of the bench behind Donna and made himself comfortable. This was going to be a long story – he might as well be comfortable.

"Yeah," Wally inserted. "Like that time we had to get him stinkin' drunk to find out what we did about—"

"Wal," Donna interrupted firmly. "Not. Now."

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. Right. Not relevant. Sorry." One of the disadvantages of being a speedster was that his mind tended to be miles ahead of everyone else's – as well as his mouth. So he sometimes tended to forget _not_ to talk about things people wanted to keep confidential.

 _Breathe._ "So. Philadelphia," Barbara prompted, trying not to be too frustrated with the interruptions. After all, each team had their own way of operating, and if banter worked for them, she was all for it. (She just wished it didn't have to take _so long_.)

"Yeah. Philadelphia," Donna sighed. "What a mess that was. I guess... I guess it all started with the Scarfo family. In particular, with the murder of Phillip Testa."

Barbara stiffened. "I thought no one knows who was responsible for that." In fact, if she recalled her mob history correctly, wasn't that uncertainty one of the triggering factors that had set off the families in the city? They'd started off blaming each other, and it had just snowballed from there. Thirty mobsters killed in four years was no mean feat.

Roy snorted into his beer. "Yeah. We'll get to that."

Donna gave Barbara a sharp look. "Well then. What do _you_ know about the murder?"

She shrugged. Because it didn't directly relate to vigilantes, as far as she was aware, it hadn't exactly been something she'd memorized or spent a lot of time on. "About the same as everyone else, I imagine. The family was apparently having some kind of meal. There were two boys and a bomb involved, but I'm not sure of the details. I'd have to re-examine the file to say much more than that."

"It was a nail bomb," Roy said, his voice quiet as he took up the tale. "It was put on Testa's porch with a trip-wire, and then they rang the bell."

Barbara blinked. " _They?_ " she echoed.

He took a large swallow of his drink. There was no way he was relaxed enough yet for _this_. "That's what Dick said. He never went into more detail than that. Me... I got there too late to see."

"So you mean..."

"Yeah. Me and Dick... we're the 'two boys'. More to the point, Dick probably saw who put it there."

Barbara rocked her chair, thinking. "Is the contract because of that? What he saw?"

Roy shrugged. "At this stage, it's a moot point until we get him back." He drowned the last of his beer in one gulp. "Dick was never exactly forthcoming on how he got the contract. But I'd say that you just gave the most likely scenario."

"So, he's been running ever since?"

"No." Roy said firmly. "Let's be clear about this, Barbara." He stared at her, eyes hard. "He's been running since he left Gotham."

"More to the point," Donna added, because some things had to be said to drive home exactly how _serious_ this was, "they've had _years_ to plan this and three days since he arrived to put their plans in place. Now that they have him, they know exactly what to do with him."

"You mean..."

"I mean," she said grimly, "it's been at least twelve hours since we noticed he was missing, and that's twelve hours too long in an assassin's company. So, we're probably looking for his body at this stage. The only question is what condition he'll be in."

* * *

 _ **Elsewhere**_

"Is he dead yet?"

"No."

"Then _why_ are you here?"

"I... Do you need anything left when we're done?"

"That's not important."

"I see... I'm sorry, Sir. I won't interrupt you again."

* * *

TBC

I know. But it was such a good stopping place... :)


	6. Breathe

_**Summary:**_ It was always going to come to this.

 _ **Notes:**_  
1) POV changes. I think its pretty clear but I wrote it.  
2) Also, another short-ish chapter. Because I'm evil that way :) and Always-A-Pain-RL Happened. :(  
3) Quick beta credit to vicsage, with another beta credit going to estherdragonbat (with thanks for putting up with my impatience lol)

#

#

* * *

 **CIRCLE II**

 **BETWEEN THE CRACKS**  
 _ **6\. Breathe**_

* * *

 _Breathe, Grayson_.

I'd been doing it for such a long time now. It really shouldn't be so hard. It's strange, though, the things that catch you unawares and are harder than you think they should be.

Like breathing.

 _Out._ Let the pain out with the breath, that's it. If I don't feel it...it's not there, right?

Denial. Yeah. I just want it to work _for_ me for once.

 _And in._ Oxygen. So vital for life and so underrated.

I don't think I'll ever take it for granted again.

 _Out._ Just breathe through it. As long as I'm breathing, then I'm alive, right?

And that's a good thing, right?

Right?

 _In_ — It was hard not to let my breath hitch when I heard the door open and shut again. To not let on that I _knew_ , that I was awake.

Luck, as always, wasn't on my side. Not in this place.

The footsteps tapped over to my side. "What are you doing awake?" And the pain...

 _Out..._

...Oh.

Breathing's...

...overrated...

anyways.

* * *

It was a quick transporter hop back to Gotham General – that is, to the alley _behind_ Gotham General, because it wouldn't do for the general populace to see people popping into place from thin air. At least this time, Barbara noted, the transporter co-ordinates _made sense_. (At least _something_ did on what was turning out to be a very weird night.)

Call her paranoid, but the very first thing she did was _breathe_.

Just in case. (Because there'd been transporter accidents in the past, you know. Misplaced co-ordinates, bad transports, misplaced _limbs and organs_ , that sort of thing _..._ It was always better to check.) (Check, double check, and verify, that was the Bat motto. Words to live by.)

And she felt a small part of her relax when she smelled the familiar air of Gotham, of comfort and familiarity...of _home_. Yes, this, _this_ was where she belonged.

Gotham.

As she breathed out, her gaze landed on the hospital and she pursed her lips in thought. It reminded her of what she'd left behind and the people that would be waiting in Bruce's room for her return. But would she be the same person returning? She knew... _more_ now.

Quid pro quo, wasn't that how it went?

She sighed and turned to the heroes with her. Fair was fair, and she had to admit they'd given her a lot of trust tonight. It would only be fair to trust them back, right? "Give me a few minutes, let me vouch for you to the rest, and you should be fine to come up."

With that, she wheeled away and started on her journey back.

By mutual agreement, the Titans silently watched her leave towards the hospital, waited until she was out of earshot, and then waited some more. (Because you could never tell with people these days, what enhancements they had going for them.)

Once he was sure they were out of earshot, Roy pulled out his phone and started messaging Oz back at the Tower. _:Yo Oz. We clean?:_

 **Yep. She didn't plant anything for once. At least, I'm not detecting anything in your vicinity.**

 _:Awesome.:_ Roy grinned at glanced up at his friends. "We're clean."

Donna sighed a breath of relief and leaned against the wall of the building. "Thank goodness. I was afraid we'd have to come up with some sort of plausible reason for why we'd killed the bugs."

Garth cracked his fingers. "Stopping a mugging works. Blunt trauma that just happens to hit the bug."

"Or I could vibrate them _reallyreallyreally_ fast," Wally said with a grin.

"True," she conceded. "Do you think that means Oracle believed us?"

 **The only times she deviated from her baseline stats were when we revealed the blackmail and contract.**

"Which we can hopefully put down to elevated emotions like frustration," Roy said. "Because we really did lead her around a bit. And, as a bonus, we didn't tell her any more than we'd planned to at this stage." He looked down at his phone and started typing again. _:By the way, you were right. We did the team thing and suckered her into asking the questions.:_

 **Told you,** Vic replied. **How long did it take?**

 _:One minute.:_

 **Heh. I had her pegged at two. Just gives me her new baseline, is all.**

 _:Thanks, Vic.:_

 **It's what I'm here for,** the old Titan said, and disappeared from the screen.

"So, it's all systems go, then?" Garth asked, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Yep." He slipped the Oz phone back into his pocket and squared his shoulders. "You all ready for this?"

They either nodded or murmured their affirmatives. They were ready. As much as they'd ever be anyway.

With that, Roy lead his team into the hospital. Time for phase two of this (crazy mess of a thing they'd scraped together) plan: facing down the JLA.

Which meant they had to go to Bruce.

Right.

Bruce.

Yeah.

Okay. They could do this.

Dodging the press gathered around the hospital was simple enough. They were, after all, past masters at sneaking into places they weren't supposed to be. It actually helped that it was raining. (Still. Or maybe it'd never stopped...) The water-logged air obscured vision _just_ enough that they were simply a couple of vague shadows walking into the entrance.

From there, it was easy. Oracle, bless her heart, had already told them the floor (well, her phone had; gotta love remote tracking). And the security, well. The less said about that the better. Either Oracle had already cleared them, which the Titans doubted (she wasn't that helpful with them, even on her better days), or Wayne needed better guards. Not one of them even _glanced_ at them.

Or, worse thought, his guards were being _paid_ to be bad. No one could be this bad at their job without it being intentional. (Because even if the team _had_ been cleared, the guards should've at least checked their IDs. This was _I'm-so-bad-at-my-job-its-suspicious_ level of awfulness.)

The only really interesting part of the whole thing was knowing that they were treading upon ground that Dick had trod upon just twelve hours earlier. It was...surreal.

Spooky, even.

On the other hand, they'd always known it was going to come to this from the moment Dick had left for Gotham, so...

Yeah.

But plans were never quite the same as reality. Because as much as they'd prepared themselves, planned for, had even created their reputation to provoke _this_ exact reaction, there were some things that were _always_ going to hurt no matter what. And there were some things (some _people_ ) that just couldn't be planned for.

"Why'd'ya bring _them_ here for?!"

Like that.

* * *

TBC


End file.
